


oddloop

by luciferTM



Series: the oiyama agenda [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Competitive Dancing, M/M, im sorry is that not a tag that existed prior to now? should be, inspired by Ballroom e Youkoso to a certain extent, mentions of karasuno first-years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferTM/pseuds/luciferTM
Summary: "I don't-- This all very sudden-- Why do you want to dance with me?""Because I want to see what you're made of,” Oikawa said with adamant patience.





	oddloop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wyvenwife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wyvenwife/gifts).



> this is for [char](https://twitter.com/bennflynt), who said oiyama dancing was the ultimate AU weeks ago. i really hope you like it! it was supposed to be a prompt, but i apparently don't know the meaning of that word. 
> 
> i've been thinking about oiyama for years now... this is the first complete work i was able to finish/am able to post for them, but it won't be the last.
> 
> i would have really liked to create the routine or to be able to describe it at least, but all i’ve found online were either the basics of waltz or waltz being danced by professionals/at a really high level. i lack the technical knowledge to be able to imagine adequate variations, so i couldn’t be more precise -- but if you, reading this, want to know what a throwaway oversway, the last figure of the variation, looks like (and/or to watch a beautiful routine executed by professionals, even though the video quality is not great) check [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mv6qSS68IYQ) out. it’s also the last figure of the routine in this video.
> 
> the title, oddloop, is in reference to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCp2iXA1uLE) that has been giving me strength when i needed it, much like a certain rarepair.  
> (nobody gives me trouble like they do though, they’re lucky i love them so much)  
> apparently “oddloop” is a pun. odd refers to “odoru” (dancing) so it’s basically a “dance loop.”

"You take the lead," Oikawa said.

He closed the distance between them with lank strides, and positioned himself, his hand awaiting the hold. Yamaguchi raised his hands in the air in protest instead of taking it.

"Well, then," Ukai said, tossing the key on the counter. "I have stuff to do. Lock up when you're done, yeah?"

"We will," Oikawa assured, almost singing the words. Yamaguchi's gaze darted from his smile to the key, the sound of Ukai's rapidly disappearing footsteps hammering out the finality of the endeavor.

"Wait, I..."

"I'm not giving you a choice."

"I don't-- This all very sudden-- Why do you want to dance with me?"

"Because I want to see what you're made of,” Oikawa said with adamant patience.

Yamaguchi's gaze floated between Oikawa's hand and his collarbones as he processed this so that he would resist the temptation to glare. Oikawa was always there when they left class, already stretching or chatting with coach Ukai, but Yamaguchi had never exchanged a single word with him. Until the day he made a jab at Tsukishima's posture, losing his aura of mystery along with the benefit of the doubt Yamaguchi had granted him.

Kageyama had warned them from day one that Oikawa had a terrible personality. Kageyama said the same of Tsukki, so Yamaguchi had decided that he would wait and assess the truth of that statement for himself. The only other criteria of judgment he had was Oikawa's dancing, which was all kinds of dangerously beautiful. _He's a gifted dancer,_ Ukai said, _but not in the same way Kageyama is._ Even if Kageyama's lead was incredibly difficult to follow and his tendency to bark orders did not work in his favor, he remained the pride and joy of their teacher. That was the real reason Yamaguchi didn't make much of the hostile glint in Oikawa's eyes when he watched the end of their class, or of Kageyama's wary frown.  
But Oikawa had started pestering _Tsukki._

"If you want to watch me dance, all you have to do is step back," Yamaguchi said. "That's what I was here for." The rest of the sentence didn’t escape Oikawa’s notice. His lips stretched into a sliver of a smile.

"You should consider yourself lucky, you know? I don't ask just anyone for a dance."

Yamaguchi narrowed his eyes. "Do you even know my name?"

Oikawa chuckled, chiding. "Yamaguchi-kun, wasn't it? Waltz class, intermediate. Of course I know who you are."

Yamaguchi's guarded look gave way to bemusement.  
The first time he had to stay after class for practice, it took ten minutes of shaky stretching, five minutes of stiff box practice, and the sum of those exercises being done while mentally calling Oikawa various names for Yamaguchi to relax. No matter how much of a jerk Oikawa was, his dancing--  
His dancing had nothing to gain from watching someone like Yamaguchi, who had been taking lessons for years but still lagged behind, as opposed to Hinata, for example, whose fast-paced progress was noteworthy. Hinata, who had blasted through the doors of the studio a year ago and was already entering his first competition on natural ability alone -- all the while offering Kageyama his help to figure out how to work as a pair, even if they couldn't enter competitions together. If there was anyone to take notice of, it was them. And Tsukki, of course, who brushed the whole of the competitive world off briskly, but had to be sick, like today, to miss a chance at refining his variation.  
In the face of a class constituted of rapidly evolving talents, Yamaguchi's inadequacies were clear as day.  
Which is why, unfortunately, Oikawa was right. He was a fool if he didn't make use of this opportunity.

"Please take care of me," Yamaguchi mumbled, reaching out for Oikawa's hand while pointedly ignoring the satisfied look on his face.

Yamaguchi took a step forward, so they were almost chest to chest. The hold came together with surprising ease. Oikawa leaned into the following stance, perfunctory, picture-perfect. Their slight height difference had been erased: Yamaguchi's eye level was now above Oikawa's. He could see the veins beating at Oikawa's neck, the small hair of Oikawa's nape as he turned his head. Looking even softer than the rest of his hair, like strands of silk.

Oikawa shot Yamaguchi a glance from under his eyelashes that jolted him into motion.

Yamaguchi wasn't used to leading someone this tall. Yachi, his usual partner, was tiny and pliant, steady as she was lithe and light. Easy to lead, in a way that testified of her skills as a dancer.

Everything in Oikawa's responding grasp was a challenge. His defiance beckoning, fizzling out at every point of contact, curling in the in-between, turning suspended breaths into static. Nothing like Yachi’s gentle shine.

Yamaguchi swiveled and spun, taking it all in. His heart rattled the inside of his chest, anxiety refusing to give way to exhilaration. He was trained not to yield under pressure, were it an outside examination akin to the one faced in competition; not prepared to hold a refined threat close, to bear their calculating gaze every step of the way.  
To the amateur, the waltz would look like a tamer, milder dance than the fiery ones like the tango. An easy flow, concealing the aggressivity with which dancers like Oikawa imposed their presence. Yamaguchi could feel his variation becoming something entirely different. Something that didn’t belong to him, something he had to reclaim. He widened his step, the light in Oikawa’s eyes dancing, ever egging him on.  
_Don’t use Yachi to disappear._ Ukai’s voice filled his mind. _I won’t let you take part in a competition again if--_  
Yamaguchi furiously pushed the memory away.  
_Fine, look at me._ He sharpened his gaze and every movement, discarded his reserve. _Look at me._  
He had been close to becoming overly conscious of Oikawa and getting caught in his pace, when all he had to do was focus on his own dancing, as the lead. From the corners of his eyes, he thought he saw something shift in Oikawa’s expression. It was gone when he looked at him again.  
In the absence of any interruption or protest on Oikawa’s part, Yamaguchi had started again, from the top, without missing a beat. Oikawa began to unleash staccato remarks halfway through the routine.

"Your upper body was late just now. I'm supposed to match this, you know? Your movement should be more fluid, it's all supposed to come together, like a wave-- Deduction, your legs are loose! No, don't slouch, that's even worse-- Don't stop!"

Oikawa's eyes smoldered as they met his. Yamaguchi steeled himself.

"Either you want to see what I can do, as my partner," Yamaguchi said, "or you're here as a teacher, but not both at the same time."

"You shouldn't stop dancing," Oikawa retorted, tightening the hold. "No matter what."

"My partner wouldn't blabber on in the middle of the dance floor, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"I was offering feedback." Oikawa's gaze slid downwards. "But I suppose that could have waited. I got carried away."

Yamaguchi gave a flat _yes_ in response. He initiated a step back, so they could return to their starting point and begin again, but Oikawa resisted the pull.

"Hold on," he said. "This wasn't what I wanted to see."

"I think you've made that abundantly clear--"

"I thought you'd understood," Oikawa said with a disquieting calm, "that I wanted to see the best you could do." He straightened his spine, looking right at Yamaguchi with his height back in full. "Don't go crumbling on me, or letting me slip." He did not smile; his eyes glimmered. “Or I’ll step on your toes.”

Yamaguchi’s voice fought its way past the plummeting feeling in his stomach. "How..."

He'd come to the studio in the early morning to practice, with only Ukai there to give him the occasional judgmental glance when he raised his gaze from the newspaper. He hadn't told anybody about it yet, not even Tsukki.  
The variation he was set on mastering was very different from his current one. It was the one Yamaguchi really wanted to be dancing, despite not being at the right level for it. One he could only dance in a competition if he progressed by leaps and bounds.  
One of Oikawa’s old variations, tweaked at his convenience here and there.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it does. If you've been watching me, then--" Yamaguchi bit his lips. "What need do you have to..."

"This is different." Oikawa cocked his head, clenched Yamaguchi's hand in his own, and declared: "I'm here."

Yamaguchi evaded his gaze, biting his lips harder. Oikawa had seen him dance, Yamaguchi too engrossed in what probably looked like a pale counterfeit of Oikawa's own routine to notice. It all made sense, now. Oikawa had cornered him so he could set things straight, offended by Yamaguchi’s reinterpretation of his routine.  
Why had Ukai never said anything about him practicing that variation, instead of the one Yachi and he were currently using in competition?

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I wasn't going to actually use it for anything official. It was just practice."

"When did I ever ask for an apology?” Oikawa sounded displeased. “If you want to make it up to me, do it by dancing this routine like your legs are going to come off by the end of it."

Could he convince Oikawa that he was worthy of such a routine, even remotely? If he could not, was he ready to be told what he had, deep down, been bracing himself for-- that maybe he just wasn’t suited for dance at that level?

"Ah… yes."

It was possible this had never even been about Yamaguchi at all. Oikawa might be doing this so he could get a better idea of what following was like, in order to reconnect with the partner he had lost because of his recently healed leg injury-- Shimizu, whose name was spoken in hushed whispers when Oikawa was around.

"And Yamaguchi?" Oikawa asked. Yamaguchi guided them back to the starting point. Oikawa slipped back into the follower stance like a hand into a well-worn glove. "If you're going to practice it, _use it_ ,” he said. “Don't let it go to waste."

Yamaguchi lost his train of thought entirely as he met Oikawa’s gaze, the words finally settling in.  
Oikawa was the very last person Yamaguchi would have imagined reminding him not to run. Yet he had been for a while now.  
Yamaguchi took in a shuddering breath and was the one, this time, to clench Oikawa’s hand just a little tighter than needed.

“Alright. If you’re here, then, we aren’t stopping until I get it right.”

“Oh, I was counting on it,” Oikawa said. “I have to say, I like that look on your face way better.”

Yamaguchi answered by locking his grip on Oikawa and taking his first step. The idea of him getting Oikawa’s approval for his variation in one night, as he tried and failed to win competitions with a regular one, was laughable. Nonsensical.

And irrelevant.

There were no spotlights to hide under. Only a boy in his arms, a boy with taunting, eager eyes, asking Yamaguchi not to dance for him.

The sun burned away behind the window, long forgotten.

 

  
─

  


The corrections Oikawa gave this time were unspoken. A lingering touch, a darting gaze, a slightly insistent bend.

“Again,” was all Oikawa said every time they reached the end. Yamaguchi would have quickly lost count of the number of times he repeated the same steps, had he bothered trying to keep it.

When practicing the same routine over and over, there was usually a moment his attention would slip and he would just be going through the motions. That day, Yamaguchi’s mind traveled through the routine, anticipating on steps further ahead or replaying the sensation of old ones.

The whole routine was a discontinued movement they carried out as one: two livewires sliced open, joined at the seams. Each lone prickle of connection stretched on like a single nerve.  
Even in those rare moments where he and Yachi found that same unity, dazzling and all-consuming, he had never had to bare himself quite like this.

Instead of dread, elation shot through Yamaguchi like a shockwave, keeping him on his toes.

 

  
─

  


_One more time,_ Oikawa started saying instead. Yamaguchi’s legs felt fainter every time they stopped. His throat prickled like he had swallowed dry ice, and his entire back ached with the effort of maintaining the hold.  
He was not sure he could have stopped if he wanted.

Yamaguchi swayed and stepped and sprung aside, forward, forward, not once but twice at once. The air was heavy enough to clean his lungs out, bodies growing lighter. The thrill of a shadow of flesh and blood.

"One last time."

One last veer, delicate as a cut.

As they glided into the last step of the variation, throwaway oversway, Yamaguchi felt Oikawa trying to steady Yamaguchi’s shaking hand with his grasp.

“ _You_ ,” Oikawa breathed out, and stopped at that, tasting the word in his grin.

“How,” Yamaguchi panted, “was that?”

He could barely hear the music over the pounding in his limbs, reverberating from his chest to his whole body. His heartbeat was trying to jump out of his skin, of his throat and skull and shoes. He unclenched Oikawa’s hand from his own, receded, wavered.

“Woah there,” Oikawa spluttered, stumbling forward to catch him in his arms. “Be careful. The floor must be slippery because of our sweat, too-- Wouldn’t want you breaking something now, would we?”

Oikawa held him closer than the dancing hold entailed, close enough for Yamaguchi to hear the stammering of Oikawa’s heart echoing his own.  
Heat surged to Yamaguchi’s cheeks. He hoped that they were already flushed enough for Oikawa not to notice. Oikawa cleared his throat, carefully let go. Yamaguchi tore himself away with a blend of disappointment and relief. 

“I-- Thanks. Sorry.”

“No harm done,” Oikawa said, gentler than Yamaguchi would have expected. “Sit down for a bit. I’ll get some water, and some towels.”

“I have that in my bag-- the red one.”

“Got it.”

Yamaguchi made his way towards the speakers to shut them off, treading warily around the traces of sweat on the floor. The silence was abrupt, the room widened at once, reshaped into something unfamiliar. Fortunately, Oikawa came back shortly, Yamaguchi’s bag in one hand, his own in the other.

“I figured it would be faster to bring everything instead of going through your stuff.” He eyed Yamaguchi, who was still standing with a hand against the wall as support, disapprovingly. “Sit down and stretch with me.”

Yamaguchi complied, too tired to mind that it sounded more like a command than an offer.

He glanced at the horizontal window slits, registering the particular quality of the quiet and the fall in temperature. The studio had got darker with the passing hours, but their eyes had accommodated to the decrease in luminosity naturally. They had not switched on the neons, so the indoor light was faint, mostly coming from the back room. Pearl-grey clouds had shielded them from the moon's scrutiny while the night had tip-toed its way in, and enveloped them in its embrace of black velvet.

“What time is it?” Yamaguchi asked.

“Let's see... About midnight.”

“Seriously...” Yamaguchi murmured, somewhere between amused embarrassment and confused pride.

They stretched slowly, in comfortable silence, neither of them offering to help the other. Lost in their own thoughts, they regained consciousness of their limbs without the tension of a touch, of a weight or a pull.

“Are your feet okay?” Oikawa asked after some time.

Yamaguchi, fingers grasping his toes as he leaned over his joined legs, blinked up at him.

“Think so. I’m used to doing additional practice.”

“I know that, but we’ve been dancing for hours without break.”

Yamaguchi stared, unconvinced. “I can handle a few blisters...”

“It’s not...” Oikawa sighed. “I know you can, but taking care of yourself never hurts.”

Just like that, he fell silent. Yamaguchi kept staring, a notion forming in his mind that he did not dare try to confirm, as Oikawa, cross-legged, bent to stretch his upper body on the floor.  
His chestnut hair fell on his eyes, veiling his gaze. Yamaguchi had the urge to push it back, to dig his fingers into the thick of Oikawa's hair, let his hand slide down until it cupped Oikawa cheek, and-- And it was all too easy to outline someone's face in the dark, to assume.  
Oikawa blew the bangs away with an annoyed huff. Yamaguchi’s gaze darted away.

Such a kidlike gesture, that added to Oikawa’s quizzical character. But Yamaguchi was only starting to figure him out. Not that he expected to have him all figured out anytime, no more than he wanted Oikawa, or even himself, to figure out where he stood. He wanted to always dance like they had, like gravity itself had no business halting his course.

“Thank you,” Yamaguchi said suddenly. “For tonight.”

Oikawa merely smiled in response.

“I’ll buy you dinner after practice next time. If you want to,” Yamaguchi offered.

Oikawa’s smile widened. “That would be nice. Ah, but you helped me practice as well, you know? So… only if I’m allowed to return the favor later. How is that?”

“Later,” Yamaguchi repeated.

“Well, after all, I couldn’t watch you dance _and_ teach you, right? And Ukai is so busy with his new oh-so-talented protégés.” Oikawa’s smile turned somewhat predatory at the mention of his rivals. “Wouldn’t it be great for you to have one more teacher, one that can pay more attention to you?”

“Sounds... great,” Yamaguchi muttered, hyper-aware of the flush that had risen to his face again.

“Then that’s settled.”

 _Settled_ , he said, yet their newfound understanding might thrum in the silence for a moment, like lingering adrenaline, before dissipating with the dawn. For all that Oikawa had guaranteed that they would talk again, they had traced with trained feet the limits of a liminal space. Shared knowledge of the light that gathered in the folds of the night was not enough, on it own, to leave a mark. When Oikawa stood up, Yamaguchi followed the instinct to cling to the moment for a little longer.

"Can I ask you something?" Yamaguchi asked. Oikawa nodded. "Why do you come here to practice? I've heard that you have your own dance studio at home."

"I do. I'm just minding my competition."

If the way Oikawa had chosen to spend his evening was anything to go by, he didn’t just mean Kageyama. Oikawa, picking up on the fact that Yamaguchi was considering this, added:

"Do you know why I got carried away, earlier?"

Yamaguchi shook his head.

"You were smiling. Didn't you realize?"

Yamaguchi shook his head again, mind reeling, trying to summon belated awareness before it hit him. Since Oikawa had started criticising his dancing on the spot, Yamaguchi’s smile must have somehow _irritated_ him.

Judging by Oikawa’s smirk, Yamaguchi’s thoughts were written all over his face.

"Oh, don't worry. You weren't beaming like a kid on their first ride at the merry-go-round. You were barely even smiling, so maybe that's not the best way to describe it, but mmmh..." He tapped his lip with his index finger, effortlessly charming in a gesture that, Yamaguchi guessed, had been carefully cultivated into a habit. "You looked determined," he settled on.

"Determined to..." Yamaguchi started, an invitation for Oikawa to finish the thought.

Oikawa picked his bag up from the floor and flung it over his shoulder, either action seeming to require very little of his attention.

"I can't wait," he said, the words a graze on Yamaguchi's skin as he walked past him, "to find out."

**Author's Note:**

> now the question is: how long before they make out in a dance hall bathroom post-competition? place your bets 
> 
> thank you to my bab [lynne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/silpium) for betaing ♥


End file.
